America, A History
by sasunarukyuubi
Summary: Based on American history; basically Hetalia, but centered around America xD Rated for strong language and disturbing scenes that may or may not happen later. Will contain multiple pairings; most of them involving America uke.
1. Chapter 1

**My first Hetalia fanfic, please don't hurt me! D: lol**

**This fic is going to be about American history, 'kay? I have a bunch of books and resources about American history, but if you think something is wrong, please let me know! I don't know everything, and the books can only tell you so much. Like the Native American Tribes. I don't know much about them. Sorry.**

**Also, I'd like to point out that, though I am not one, I LOATHE calling them Indians. Seriously. The only reason people call them "Indians" is because Columbous was a DUMBASS and thought he was in India. I prefer calling them Native Americans. :P**

**This will most likely have multiple pairings, btw. America's just like that xD Just know that i prefer America being the uke, so all you USUK fans: Tough. When I get there, it'll be UKUS. There will almost positively be RussiAmerica, too, because I love that pairing to bits. :D And France/America. And Spain/America. And... Yeah. Probably Canada/America, too. If I get that far.**

_I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. I wish, but, sadly, I don't._  
The bushes rustled and the bramble snapped underfoot. A lone figure snuck around curiously through the dark undergrowth and low-hanging trees. He blew a quick, angry breath towards the blond hair hanging in his face. When that didn't work and only served in tickling his ears, he attempted to smooth the cowlick back with a sweep of his hand.

The boy's face was painted and the clothes he wore were made of deer skin and sinew. He grunted, annoyed, and mumbled a few words in his own language, resuming his spying by crouching even lower to the earth and peeking out of the bushes cautiously and carefully, narrowing his cerulean blue eyes.

There were foreigners on his land. Strange men that had a lighter skin color than he. And their clothes were so odd…

He hadn't realized that he had stuck his head out of the bush far enough to be noticed, until one of them turned around. This one had the same color hair that he had, which was odd. He was the only one in the land with that color. In fact, both foreigners had blond hair. The one that turned around was taller than him, though not by too much, and blue-green eyes.

The boy gave an unmanly squeak and endeavored to hide himself again, but no luck.

"Su-san! Look!"

The other one turned, looking over the large object he had in his arms. The boy squinted. It was a cube shape, but it didn't look naturally that way. He set it down and moved to stand by the smaller male.

"Watchya talkin' 'bout?" The blond hiding in the bushes watched in confusion. What language was that? They continued to speak in their foreign language until the smaller blond walked towards the bushes where the boy was hiding.

"Hello?" Hel-o? What did that mean?

"Please, come out!" More of his gibberish, this time gesturing with his hand. "We won't hurt you!"

The blond boy in the bushes hesitated before sticking his head out of his cover. He glared suspiciously at the intruders.

"Look, Su-san! There are actually people here! He's so cute!" The boy couldn't understand what the foreigner had said, but he could tell that he was in jeopardy of his manliness by the way the other man was acting towards him.

"Shut up!" he barked. "Who are you people?"

The only answers he received were a look of confusion from the shorter one and a blank look from the taller male.

The two began talking amongst themselves hurriedly. The boy finally removed himself completely from the shelter of the bushes, poking the ground with his feet. He drew random circles into the dirt; waiting for the weird men directed their attention back to him or did something interesting.

The smaller of the two turned towards him and he stopped his circling. He spoke to him and it seemed like it was a question, but he didn't speak their language.

"I don't understand you, Foreigner," the boy replied monotonously, annoyed. "Learn my language before you come here." He resumed his drawing in the dirt, which at some point had turned from random circles to an articulate drawing of a buffalo.

The taller of the two raised an eyebrow at the boy's answer, not understanding him, and his eyebrow rose even further up his forehead when he noticed the boy's drawing. The smaller man just looked exasperated at not being able to understand him.

The boy pulled at his cowlick absentmindedly and started when the smaller foreigner dropped to his knees. Beside his buffalo drawing, he drew in the dirt with his finger while speaking slowly.

"Are there…" He drew a face. The boy could tell that it was a face. "Any more…" he drew several other faces. "Of you…?"

The other foreigner mumbled something and the latter hushed him. The strange white man on his knees nodded slowly at the boy.

"Yes…?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, trying to understand the drawings with the foreigner's gestures. He got the gist of it. He nodded his head slowly to match the other's gesture.

The foreigner's face lit up with genuine happiness and satisfaction. He raised himself from the earth and turned to his companion, chatting animatedly.

After they finished talking, or the smaller one talking and the taller one just nodded and answering with monosyllables, the smaller one turned to him.

"Fin. Land." He pointed to himself and repeated his words. "My name is Finland."

"Finland?" the boy cocked his head to the side. What?

The foreigner smiled and nodded. He repeated while pointing to himself again, "Finland!"

It clicked.

The boy pointed to the short foreigner and repeated, "Finland?" Was that his name? The boy guessed as much.

The short foreigner pointed to his friend.

"Sweden." Soo-ee-den? What a funny name!

"Sweeeden!" the boy laughed, repeating the other's name, and pointing to him.

"That's right!"

The boy, who by now undertood that they were introducing themselves, pointed to himself and announced proudly:

"America!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Yo, guys; I'm back. Duh. Anyway, this chapter has slightly more plot. Slightly. And it may or may not confuse you. I'll start by letting you guys know, that, in my head-cannon, the only males capable of giving birth naturally, are the countries/nations. Yeah. That's all I'm saying on that subject. **

"_**Ne-ee-mat**_**": "Brother" in the language that he's speaking. I can't remember what it's called :/ [shot'd]**

After the encounter with the strange foreigners, America had gone back to the small settlement that they were building. He suddenly realized that Mr. Finland and Mr. Sweden had no intention of going back on their giant rafts.

He did not hesitate to leave the cover of the brush and bramble to jog to the cabin closest to him. At the cabin, Mr. Finland was outside, helping Mr. Sweden unload the unnatural cubes that he later had learned were called "boxes".

America would talk with them; he in his language and they in their own language. The foreigners would show him interesting things, and he would show them the way of the land. They were apparently new to forestry.

It was subsequently later when he brought one of his own to greet them.

"Ah, hello!" Mr. Finland smiled warmly and Mr. Sweden just acknowledged the two with a slight nod of his head. "Who's this, America?"

America, who had picked up some of the foreigners' language, nodded and pointed to the smaller boy behind him. The boy behind him was considerably younger than he and had slightly darker skin. His large, chocolate brown eyes were wide with curiousness.

"Lenni Lenape," America answered for the child. Mr. Finland smiled again and tipped his hat.

"Hi, Lenni! Can I call you that?" Lenni Lenape just stared, showing no signs that he understood. Mr. Finland took it as a "yes". America smiled happily back.

"My child," America stated, hugging the newly dubbed "Lenni" warmly around the shoulders. Mr. Sweden just blinked and Mr. Finland's smile froze. Mr. Sweden spoke first, this time.

The two thought, 'How could a male…?' and 'Unless… he must be a…'

"How d' you ha' chil'en?" Mr. Sweden asked and America just frowned. The blond looked at the foreigners, head cocked to the side. "Ain't you eh bit youn'?" America looked at Mr. Finland with a look of confirmation. He wasn't even close to learning as much of their language to be able to decipher that.

"How do you have a child?" Mr. Finland understood America's panic. He also looked to Sweden, wondering why he didn't ask if he was a country, instead of asking he was "too young".

"Aren't you a little too young?"

"Young?" America asked. They nodded. "Not young."

America was walking along the winding dirt path that cut through the forest. It had looked man-made to Mr. Finland and Mr. Sweden, but America hadn't known what they were talking about. It had been there for a long time.

America laughed, smiling at the two who were walking beside him. Lenni Lenape and Nanticoke walked beside him, making remarks on the foreigners' ways. They had watched the white men, as well, and deemed them respectful enough. Yet, they were still slightly wary of them.

America sighed at his children. He had thought the white men were trustworthy enough. He idly wondered if his other children had met any foreigners and how they took to them.

They turned at the right spot and walked until they reached the edge of the trees. They kept going until they arrived at the brush and bramble area. America narrowed his eyes. What were the foreigners doing?

They had boxes again, but, this time, they were carrying the boxes outside. The exact opposite of what they were doing the day they first came. They had some of their people help them load the many boxes on the giant raft; he had learned that it was called a "boat" or a "ship". Nanticoke poked his brother's arm.

"Ne-ee-mat," he whispered, his black locks spilling over his shoulders. "Where are they going?" Lenni didn't answer his brother's question, only narrowing his eyes at the scene before them, like his father.

America finally sat on his behind and slouched, staring at the bush in front of him. They were leaving after such a short time! Was there something wrong? At least this meant more food for his people.

Lenni Lenape turned to his father, who was lost in thought. He kneeled beside him and spoke to him. They had to get back, soon. All of the tribes were having a get-together soon and they needed to be there. The white men might come back.

America nodded slowly and rose. That much was true. He had to have a meeting with all his children from the east side of the land. America also had to talk with his western children, as well. He played with a piece of his hair as they walked back to the tribe in silence.

America recalled hearing snippets of the two's conversation as they were packing up. They were miffed about something called a "Netherlands"? America suddenly felt really gloomy as he let the fact that the foreigners had left sink in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to FoenFyre, for the story alert and to Ckarrine, for the favorite~!**

**I do realize that France is nowhere to be seen. And that I use the word "foreigner" a lot. Sorry, I just have no other word for them xD And France will make an appearance next chapter; I promise.**

_I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia. If I did, the USUK fans would be pissed._

America pushed the flaps covering the large tipi, sighing in contented happiness. He left the meeting area, humming an old campfire song and waving good-bye to his sons and daughters. It always brought him great joy to watch his many children interact with each other. Even though they didn't always get along and there was sometimes bloodshed, they still knew that they were siblings.

It had been a few days since Mr. Finland and Mr. Sweden had left the land. His interest in learning any more of the strange language was dashed and he couldn't interact with the weird foreigners. He had felt an odd sort of familiarity towards them, somehow.

America frowned and flipped his shoulder-length, blond hair out of his face. What was that feeling, anyway? He had never seen them before in his life; he didn't think so. Yet, he felt some sort of companionship with them. Did they feel the same way?

He shook the thought away and continued his way to his next destination: Massachusetts.

He was on his way to stay with his three sons living in that area. Wampanoag, Mohegan, and Mohican. He hadn't seen them since they had left the Initial Tribe to live on their own and he wanted to see how they were doing.

America traveled from Delaware to Massachusetts in about a day and a half by foot. That long, give or take a few hours. He wasn't really paying attention.

He had just reached the edge of Connecticut, when he heard the thunder crack. He froze, eyes wide, and raised his eyes to the sky, bewildered. The sky was clear, besides the stray cloud here or there.

He stayed where he was, mouth agape. What was that? That couldn't have been thunder; it wasn't even that cold or raining. He watched the sky for signs and heard the thunder again.

It wasn't coming from the sky. It was coming from nearby. On land.

America tore through the trees and underbrush. His heart skipped a beat in fright as another crack thundered through the area and he hit the floor with a quick duck. The bark of the tree exploded just behind him.

America was breathing heavily, panicking. He jumped up, quickly, dashing to the left, under the cover of the trees. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but he could hear shouts of anger and confusion. From his people.

He crawled hurriedly through the bramble, scraping his elbows and bruising his left knee after he knocked it against a tree stump. He sprang up when he had noticed one of his own.

"Wampanoag?"

"Ah! Father!" his son called out softly, so that the unknown enemy couldn't hear the cry of relief in his native tongue. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am," America replied gruffly, sticking his lower lip out in a pout and narrowing his eyes. Wampanoag laughed darkly, his eyes giving off a dark glow.

"Father," America's son replied, his brusque language coming out in irritated huffs. "The white men have strange weapons!" America's eyes widened considerably.

"Wh-White men?"

"Yes, Father!" Wampanoag ushered the blond through the cover of the trees, bringing them closer to the unsuspecting enemy. He brandished his slingshot as another crack sounded. "They attacked us on sight!"

America refused to believe his sons words. This couldn't be the white men he had met. But, it they were, maybe he could reason with them. Maybe his sons had frightened them, somehow?

America broke his cover and dashed towards the sound of thunder. His body kept screaming at him that this action was a horrible idea; go back! Go back! You're going to get killed! But, his mind forced him to keep running. He heard his other son, Mohegan, who had apparently come as reinforcement, call out to him to come back.

Another loud crack; something sharp and moving at extremely fast speeds bit through his left arm and another grazed his right cheek. America braced himself as he ran for another shout before-

"Stop!" More foreign, unknown language he couldn't perceive. "He's no Indian! Look at his skin!"

The thunder stopped and he cracked his eye open, not stopping his rush. America saw many white men, holding large things that looked like they were made of metal and wood. What good what that do? Bludgeon someone to death? From that distance?

He slowed to a stop and entered into a stance, suspicious. The men lowered their weapons, America had perceived them as so, and looked anxiously at the man standing in front of the lot.

The white man was much taller than America, at least by a foot. The man had short, unruly blond hair and wore the oddest looking clothes. At least, compared to the other foreigners he had met. The man's green eyes met his for a brief second and the stranger smiled. He spoke to America, but America didn't understand.

America remained silent and nonmoving, still staring at the person he had deemed as the chief of the lot. The man grew impatient and spoke again, this time his voice had more of an edge. America blinked.

"I do not understand your language foreigner," America stated dryly, not letting this prestigious white man think that he was any better the he was, even though it was a futile attempt. "I trust that you don't understand mine, either?"

"Father!"

America turned to see his son, Mohegan, dashing towards him. Mohegan slowed as he reached his father and eyed the men around him suspiciously. America's heart wrenched when he noticed that he was bleeding from a wound in his right hand.

America and his son talked briefly before America directed his attention back towards the leading white man. He scowled.

The man smiled. His eyes shown with triumph and he called his men off. He wouldn't need them.

The man proceeded to march in the direction of America and Mohegan. The man's smile never left his face as he stopped not two feet away from them. America growled and covered Mohegan. The foreigner laughed and said something in his language.

The man kneeled down to America's height, placed a hand on his head, and said something else in his native tongue. America let a low growl from the back of his throat roll out before the blond foreigner did something unexpected.

He had leaned forward, kissed America's forehead, and, with his lips still hovering over America's forehead, whispered something in his language, and left.

Mohegan was left sputtering in anger at the rude foreigner's actions. What was the purpose in that?

America only stood in shock, confused.

What had just happened?


	4. Chapter 4

**I said there would be France in here. … Well, there's a cameo xD lol This is just a filler chapter, though. Don't worry the next chapter should be up by tonight or tomorrow afternoon. Also an Aztec and a Maya cameo ;D **

**Thanks to UndeadHarlot, Mad Half Hour, Wang Yao, meyasha, IRuleEverything101, and Square-Lolipop for the Story Alerts!**

**Thanks to Midnight Suicide for the favorite!**

The great ball of light that hung in the sky was lowering and the clouds were dusted a light pink. America sat alone, his legs hanging from the low-hanging tree and his back was resting against the smooth bark of the trunk. From his position on the winter-bare branches of the tree, he was able to see just about every inch of the prairie. The once-green blades of grass were golden in the dull, winter sun and winked in the cool breeze.

The blond sighed and shifted his body weight to his left side; his but was starting to hurt from sitting on the slim branch. America wanted to remove himself from the tree's branches and do something else, like his attention span told him to do, but he ignored the boredom and waited.

There was a foreigner. He would appear once, and then disappear before America had a chance to approach him. Well, he had his chances, but he had to decipher whether or not the foreigner was worth approaching. He had met face to face with him, though. Once, during that strange encounter when he had attacked his son.

His memory flashed to their parting and Mohegan's anger. America flushed slightly and frowned. Why was this particular foreigner so curious to him?

The foreigner and his people looked different from the previous ones and carried strange objects. They carried the sticks that could bring forth the lightning and thunder. Their eyebrows were so big, too! He could also tell that the foreigner was like the other two; he was like him.

He couldn't explain what he was, or how he knew; it was just a feeling, an instinct.

America was just wondering to himself if, maybe, this foreigner knew Mr. Finland or Mr. Sweden, before his head connected with the ground.

"Uwah!"

In his musings, he had fallen off of the tree and face-first into the dirt. It had to be the dirt, not the soft grass. America grumbled to himself and he picked himself up. The blond dusted his deerskin off and pulled his moccasins on, hopping forward in the process. It didn't look like any foreigners were going to come this far out today. He was so sure, too.

America groaned as he stretched his back out, picking the splinters from his neck.

Suddenly, from his spot by the tree, he averts his eyes to see across the prairie. The small forest beyond had grown silent and cool. The birds that were previously chirping had flown to a different area. This unsettled America.

America shrugged the odd feeling and jogged through the prairie, heading for his daughter in the southern area of his land. His tribes were quite a handful; he had these random feelings to check on a few of them that happened nearly everyday.

As he was briskly jogging along a pack of deer, he idly remembered his sisters that lived further down south than his children. Last he had checked, one of them was sacrificing their people's hearts to their God. His family was an odd one.

He had heard from Maya that she and Aztec were also experiencing a weird foreigner from across the sea. He dressed colorfully and came in huge ships. Aztec was complaining about his manners. America laughed to himself and he stopped, afraid of frightening the deer galloping not to far from him.

He had reached his destination later that night and had slept over at his daughter's home. Amazingly, she had had no idea of what he was talking about when he brought the news of foreigners. She had not seen any white men set foot in her territory.

America talked with her for a while, warned her about talking to strangers, and left for the east coast once more.

It was when he reached Wampanoag's home when he realized that he visited his children too often.

"Wh-what is this?" America asked his son, eyeballing the corn and other newly-harvested foods around the camp.

Wampanoag looked up from talking with his tribe's chief. He beamed at his father and gestured to the food.

"We're making friends, Father!" He announced proudly.

"With whom, may I ask…?"

"The Englishmen that arrived on our shores," Wampanoag answered seriously. "They have no idea how to survive in this land. We are going to help."

America pursed his lips, not sure.

"Eenglehshmin?" America frowned when his son just giggled at him. "What is that?"

"They are a tribe from over the seas, Father. They are called 'Englishmen', not whatever you just said," Wampanoag's dark eyes twinkled with amusement at his father.

"Why are you helping them, again?"

"They do not know how to survive here. Also, because we do not want them against us," Wampanoag's face instantly darkened. "The spirits would be angry with us if we were hostile to such nice people. And it would be bad for our health."

America decided to not respond to that.

"Alrighty, then," he finally approved.

He left his son alone with his work and entered a tipi, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the mat. Nothing disturbed his sleep that night.

The next morning, he didn't plan to leave, but the 'Englishmen' struck his curiosity and he ended up leaving camp that afternoon.

America had lived in this land for as long as he could remember, so the terrain didn't slow him any as he guided himself through the small forest and prairie. The blond's eyes widened when he noticed smoke rising from over the treetops. A camp! He was close!

There was an impassable area that he had to go around and landed himself into a familiar prairie, with mles of tall grass, reaching for the sky. There he saw them, not far from their camps.

There were three of them. One was tall and had the same color hair as he did, but it was much longer and wavier. He had a beard and fancy, vibrant clothes. With one look at his clothes, he was suspicious if this was the foreigner with Aztec, but another look told him that it wasn't.

The second one was… Mr. Finland! America instantly brightened at the sight of a familiar face among strangers, even though he didn't know a lot of his language. He looked the same he last saw him.

The third one was the bushy-eyebrows-man he had met a long time ago. The one that… Never mind. But he seemed very angry at the fancy-looking blond as the other was laughing. America tried to creep closer to the trio, using his hunting stealth as an advantage.

Unfortunately, he made a slight noise as his hid behind the long blades of grass that his prairie had to offer. Stupid twigs. Despite their loud argument, both foreigners stopped at the slight noise and looked around for the sound.

America stuck his head out, feeling much braver than he probably should have been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Uhh. Sorry for being late. I really have no excuse. Lol It's really short, too D:**

**/EDIT Okay, I rewrote this chapter because I hated it. Changed a couple things, added some more stuff. Yeah.**

_I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. If I did, there would be set relationships, not these VAGUE ones… Anyway, moving on._

Even as the three foreigners stared at him in disbelief, America just smiled, flushing slightly. He liked the attention he was receiving, however dangerous what he was doing might or might not be.

The foreigners just stared at him, making America fidget under their intent gaze. It was like they were trying to analyze every inch of him.

Suddenly, the two who were arguing earlier were at each other's throats in a split second and Mr. Finland was trying to pry them apart, speaking in a language that America couldn't understand. That wasn't how Mr. Finland had spoken to him before. The two men that he didn't know shouted and clawed at the other until they had finally calmed down. They realized that they were scaring the poor premature nation.

The two had continued arguing, but not attacking the other anymore. America was confused. 'Brother'? What was that word? That was a foreign word to him, but it was the only word he picked up. He did feel like these two were like him, but what exactly did that mean? And it was odd that they could see him. The only ones that could see him, let alone speak to him, were his children, Mr. Finland, and Mr. Sweden. And these two.

The two older blonds had stopped fighting, but America could tell that they still wanted to rip each other's throats out. They occasionally pointed to America, then to themselves, and obtained a look of triumph. Then the other would do the same and it would start over.

Mr. Finland stepped forward, smiling brightly at this new game, and pointed to himself. He asked something in that language the America couldn't understand and pointed to the said smaller nation.

The two contemplated with what Mr. Finland had said, looked at him, and then at America. They immediately backtracked, arguing with Mr. Finland.

America giggled when the two immediately were on the same side when Mr. Finland had joined in. Poor Mr. Finland. The taller, fancier-looking one turned back to America.

"Aha!" he laughed and said something, pointing to the shorter blond.

The shorter blond immediately snapped and pointed to the taller blond, retorting angrily and the other just laughed in his face.

America finally stepped out of the grass, showing the rest of him to the foreigners. He had never met anyone, besides Mr. Finland, Mr. Sweden, and his sisters, who spoke such a different language. These people obviously didn't know his language, so he'd have to try something else.

"Hei," America greeted, hoping that they knew Finnish. He looked to Mr. Finland and smiled, happy that he remembered some of it. He cocked his head upwards to look at their faces. "Nimeni on Amerikka." 'My name is America,' his thoughts translated. 'I think.'

"Ah… Hullo," the one he had met who attacked his son greeted. America tried his hardest to fight down the urge to kick him in the shin and run. America inwardly smiled as the man struggled to copy him. "N-nimmenee on England." America tried to hide his snort.

"Why, bonjour, ma petite nation! Nimenee on France~!" France beamed down at America, not caring if had pronounced it right, and added, "Voit puhutella minua kuin 'Grand-Frère France'!" America thought for a second, trying to remember what he had just said. 'Oh, "you may address me as",' he thought. 'But what was that language he just threw in there?'

England glared at France and made a "you really don't have to" gesture to America. America nodded to France in greeting, noticing England's gesture.

France and England continued to converse in their own language, this time, trying not to start a fight.

France smiled widely and hugged America, much to the little one's surprise, fawning over the smaller country.

This made England angry and they began to argue, France using America as a shield. England scowled and France snickered, knowing that England wouldn't dare. America could practically see the venom spitting from their lips.

Then they went right back into arguing with each other, with poor America stuck in the middle. 'What on earth did I do?' America dejectedly thought to himself and France yanked him off to the side to avoid England swiping him from him.

"He's my brother!"

"Mon!"

Mr. Finland had given up long before this. He frowned, trying to see if anything else could be done. Apparently not, so he smiled nervously at America, almost like an apology, and left before things could get even worse.

It was when one of them had attempted to grab America when he made a mad dash back into the long, prairie grass.

"No- Wait! Shit."

"Zut! Now, look at what you did."

"What? Me? It was your bloody fault, you wanker!"

"Quoi, mon chéri? My fault?"

And that was all America had heard before they were out of earshot. The blond little nation gasped for air when he stopped running. He had no idea what just happened. All he knew was that one of them had attacked him! So he did the first thing that came to mind: run.

America knew that they were bigger and stronger than him. He couldn't anger them or something bad would happen to him, or worse: his people. He would continue to allow his children to befriend the foreigners. He didn't want a war, after all, and this was a chance to learn new things. These white men were very different from his people, but he was sure that both sides could learn.

As long as France and England kept fighting over him, things would get really violent. America didn't want that. He sighed and continued to walk back toward Waopanoag's camps.

Unfortunatly, things wouldn't go how America and his sons of the East coast had hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the huge wait. I got grounded, and my groundings are always LONG. In fact, I'm still grounded. I'm sneaking on. Also! New characters~****And, I also changed the last chapter. You might wanna go read that again xD**

_I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, yadda, yadda, yadda…Blah, blah, blah…_

Aztec strolled along the shores of la Golfo de México, her once colorful dress was worn and could almost be classified as rags. The beautiful sleeveless blouse was now dulled with time, wear, and tarnish. Her wrap-around skirt fluttered in the quaint breeze and she shivered. Aztec stopped walking and watched the waves of la Golfa de México absentmindedly, digging her bare toes into the sand.

'Golfa de México,' she thought. She would never say it out loud, of course. Or not in front of, at least, Mr. Spain. He would be angry with her again. Neither she nor her people ever understood why they weren't allowed to speak the same language as the Conquistadors.

But that didn't mean that they didn't learn. The Spaniards spoke amongst themselves, laughing and eating and drinking Aztecs and her sisters' hard work. But she still listened. She's much more attentive than her brother.

'Speaking of him,' Aztec thought, sitting down in the sand and wrapping her arms around her knees. She smiled. 'I wonder how he's doing. Surely, these horrible foreign people didn't get him, too?'

Her chocolate brown eyes gazed down towards her belly. Her eyes glazed over and she lifted a hand towards her swollen belly. Her hand hesitated and she bit her lip, trying not to let the tear fall. She regained control of her resistant limb once again and she rested her slender hand against her belly.

She could feel a small heartbeat.

"Aztec?" a voice broke through the calm noise of the waves and the baby's heartbeat.

"S-sí?" She turned, a surprised blush dusting her tanned cheeks. Aztec swept her raven hair out of her face and behind her ear.

"Don't let Spain hear you saying that word," Maya stood, in all of her colorful glory, with her hands on her hips and a playful smile on her lips. Her traje was beautiful. Maya's multi-colored blouse and wrap-around skirt that reached her ankles were tied with a faja at her thin waist. Her long, black hair was tied into a braid with cintas.

Aztec smiled, not trusting her voice to talk. Her watery eyes gave her away at once. Maya instantly swooped down from where she stood, pulling her sister into a hug.

"Oh, mi chica…" Maya cooed, stroking Aztec's long hair as the latter sobbed into her shoulder. "Será bien… It'll be alright… Shh…"

Aztec wheezed and choked on her tears.

"I- I th-thought that you were th-the one who t-told me not t-to-"She felt so vulnerable, so stupid. "Speak Spanish…"

She felt so embarrassed. She hadn't cried like this in years, especially not in front of her sisters! But her tear ducts ignored her pleas of halting. Aztec just clutched onto her sister for dear life.

"Shh," Maya continued stroking Aztec from her head to her back. "That's not important right now, querida."

Aztec's crying slowed and Maya pulled back to look at her sister's face. She smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Mi chica," she chided. "You are too pretty to cry. Please don't do that to me again."

"Cállate." Aztec snapped, furrowing her brows. Maya laughed and pulled their forehead together.

"No, I don't think I will." Maya's eyes trailed down to Aztec's stomach, her hand following suit. Her smile faded as she felt the tiny heartbeat.

"¿Quién…?"Maya's voice faltered when she saw her sister's face. "Was it…?"

Aztec closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see her sister's face. She nodded vigorously. "Sí…"

"Oh, mi chica…" Maya hugged Aztec tight again, a look of pain on her face. "You fought it, didn't you?"

"O-of course I did, Maya!" Aztec retorted exasperatedly. "But-"

"Is he going to help with the baby?" Maya asked. Her face looked like, if she got the wrong answer, she would kill something. Aztec shifted uncomfortably under Maya's firm gaze.

"He… He doesn't know," Aztec said to the sand underneath her.

There it went. Maya had snapped.

"What do you mean, 'he doesn't know'?" Maya threw her hands in the air. "You're going to need help! Doesn't anybody know? Having a baby is dangerous!"

Aztec had tried interjecting, but Maya had gone on a rant of how dangerous having a baby is and that she could die.

"But!" Aztec yelled, successfully getting her sister's attention. "But I told Inca. She's going to help me!" Maya didn't look convinced.

"Inca? Really?" She didn't look impressed. "Not a real medicine man?"

"No… But isn't she good enough?" Maya didn't answer. She apparently didn't have a retort for that. Maya sighed and gave up, wrapping her arms around Aztec's belly and hugging her close.

"Maya…" Aztec whispered, placing her hands on Maya's slender, but strong, shoulders. Until she realized, Maya felt weaker than when they had last met. She squeezed her sister's shoulders. "Maya, you're weaker."

Maya laughed, but her laugh didn't sound as beautiful as it usually did. It sounded bitter.

"Muchísimas gracias," Maya said sarcastically.

"Is something wrong?" Aztec asked, throwing all petty talk and sarcasm aside.

Maya didn't answer.


End file.
